The Thursday evening ritual was in peril.
"I propose we attend the comic book store," Sheldon announced, standing before his whiteboard where he'd written 'Anything Can Happen Thursday' in precise, joyless letters.
"We were there yesterday," Leonard sighed, not looking up from his physics periodical.
"A fact that does not preclude today's attendance. The new shipment of Silver Surfer back-issues was delayed due to a logistical error at the distribution center. Stuart confirmed a 78% probability of their arrival this afternoon."
Howard spun in his chair. "Or, hear me out: we go to a bar. A venue with ambient lighting, acoustically-conducive to conversation, and a high statistical density of… hot women."
Raj perked up. "Ooh, I could wear my new shirt. The one that says 'Talk Nerdy To Me' in a non-ironic font."
"The bar suggestion is predicated on a flawed understanding of our social success metrics," Sheldon stated. "Our last foray to such an establishment resulted in you, Howard, attempting to break the ice with a demonstration of semi-autonomous napkin-folding. It was ineffective."
"It was avant-garde!"
Leonard brokered a deal. "We finish the Thai food, then we go to the comic book store."
As the trio exited into the hallway, they nearly collided with Penny.
"Whoa, easy, Speedy," she laughed, stepping back. Her eyes still had a faint yellowish hint of fading bruise. "You guys off to your weekly nerd pilgrimage?"
"The pilgrimage is daily, not weekly," Sheldon corrected. "We are ensuring the safe transit of key sequential art artifacts."
"Right. Well, since you're going… my nephew's birthday is this weekend. Could you maybe pick out a few age-appropriate comics for me?"
Sheldon considered this. "Your assistance would increase the probability of a suitable selection. You should accompany us."
Penny shrugged. "Okay. Sure."
The comic book store was a temple of carefully controlled chaos. Stuart Bloom looked up from behind the counter, his eyes widening behind his glasses at the sight of Penny.
"Gentlemen! And… a new patron! Welcome!"
"Stuart, this is Penny, our neighbor," Leonard said.
"A pleasure!" Stuart extended a slightly ink-stained hand.
As Sheldon launched into a clinical dissection of age-appropriate story arcs, Stuart fetched a sketchpad and began drawing. Penny didn't notice until he held it up—a flattering, slightly romanticized sketch of her as a noir-style detective.
"Wow," she said, genuinely surprised. "That's really good."
Stuart took a breath. "This sketch can be yours… if you agree to go on a date with me. Tomorrow night. I have a small art show opening."
Penny's gaze flickered, almost involuntarily, to Sheldon. He was examining a comic, his attention seemingly absorbed by its staple alignment. The brief glance was enough. It summoned that now-familiar ache—the quiet, overwhelming weight of his presence, of a depth that made this simple, flattering transaction feel impossibly shallow.
She suppressed a sigh, then manufactured a smile for Stuart. It was warm, but placid. "Okay. It's a date. But I get to keep the sketch."
"Deal!" Stuart beamed.
The following evening, Leonard was setting up his laptop. "Behold, Friday night the way it was meant to be. The buggy, text-based glory of the Zork beta."
Sheldon rubbed his hands together. "'It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.' The poetry of impending doom!"
Their ritual was shattered by the sight of Penny emerging in a little black dress. Stuart, in a slightly-too-tight corduroy blazer, offered his arm.
Leonard's face fell. "You're going out? With Stuart?"
"It's an art thing. Be nice," Penny said, avoiding eye contact. She didn't look at Sheldon. He, for his part, merely noted, "The gallery's acoustics will likely cause mid-range frequency distortion. A suboptimal auditory experience."
As they disappeared, Leonard stared at the closed elevator doors. "Forget the grue. Howard. Take me to a bar."
The bar was a disaster. Howard, operating from a playbook last updated in 1998, insisted on "predatory patience" and tried openings involving magic tricks and aerodynamic analyses of drink umbrellas. He was met with blank stares.
Raj, abandoned after ordering drinks Howard deemed "unmanly," simply sat sipping his vibrantly green Grasshopper with serene contentment.
After an hour of failure, Howard slumped. "It's you. You're my bad luck charm."
They decided to leave. As they went to collect Raj, they froze.
There he was, at a corner table, engaged in a deep, laughing conversation with a pleasantly rounded, smiling woman. As they watched, stunned, she leaned in and kissed him. Raj kissed her back.
Howard's jaw hung open. "How? He was drinking a Grasshopper!"
Penny's heels clicked softly on the fourth-floor hallway linoleum. The evening had been pleasant. Stuart was sweet.
But as she turned the corner, she saw him. Sheldon. He was standing outside his door, locking it with methodical care.
Seeing him there, so completely himself, hit her with a sudden ache. Stuart's conversation had been easy. Sheldon's presence was a weight. A gravitational pull that made pleasant normalcy feel weightless.
She stopped. Stuart was saying something about negative space.
"Thanks, Stuart," she interrupted softly. "I had a really nice time." She unlocked her door quickly. "I'm just… really tired. Raincheck?"
Stuart's face fell, but he nodded. He leaned in for a goodnight kiss.
Penny turned her head, offering her cheek. "Goodnight," she whispered, and slipped inside, closing the door. She leaned against it, listening to the silence of her apartment. The ache deepened.
Outside, Stuart stood awkwardly, then turned to leave. He passed Sheldon.
"Evening, Sheldon."
Sheldon looked at him. "You have a smudge of charcoal on your collar. Goodnight." He walked past, off into his own world.
In another part of the city, sunlight streamed through an unfamiliar window. Rajesh Koothrappali awoke.
He was in a bed that was not his own. The events of the previous night came flooding back in a warm, glorious wave.
He looked beside him. Chloe was still asleep, her face peaceful. A slow, supremely pleased smile spread across Raj's face. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.